Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, COMFORT, by RUTH FITCH BARTLETT



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COMFORT, by            
First Line: I cannot bring you comfort - ask me not
Last Line: My heart will not grow dingy on your sleeve?
Subject(s): Comfort; Love; Snow


I cannot bring you comfort -- ask me not
For smooth-pulled sheets and socks all neatly mended;
I cannot bring you biscuits brown and hot,
If these you seek, why, then, our love is ended,
If love you call it -- men do call it love --
And women, too, who know no other kind,
Who patiently put household tasks above
The trifling hungers of the flesh and mind.
But I can laugh with you at commonplaces,
And make a feast of moments men call cheap,
And I can go like snow and leave no traces,
When night means nothing more to us than sleep.
Oh! Is it not some comfort to believe
My heart will not grow dingy on your sleeve?





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